What It's About

Years ago, at a hippie fair in Eugene, Oregon, I bought a chunk of obsidian from a merchant, who told me that, being volcanic glass, it's chief property, so far as humans are concerned, is that it draws up that which is buried deep inside, and releases it to spaciousness. It seemed the perfect metaphor and catalyst for me, who's always yearned to have a fuller voice, and to mix up my insides with all of what was outside.
I consider these offerings to be the shape that deeper stuff takes when it hits the air, where dream stuff hits the ground, how imagination meets an opening in the day, when another's face is opened to me, the ways possibility enters a room.
Yes, even molten glass can blossom.